I rose at the Farm feeling the first muggy heat of the season. I checked the usual sites as I was easing into the post-holiday truncated week. Gently.

I was relieved to note that some things are unchanged in this cascade of constant change. Noted futurist and perpetual hysteric Paul Ehrlich is still very much with us, and playing the same tune that he did when he was spectacularly wrong about population and food and climate in the 1970s. His latest meme is that we will soon be eating our dead. Shriller and shriller are the voices, less coherent, more foam flecks.

I am not going to waste any time re-reading The Population Bomb- that sort of science fiction isn’t any fun, just trash. But the pool season brings on a requirement for new ways to waste time by the blue water of the Big Pink Pool. I have a weakness that I abandoned for years of busy service and the sadly departed spate of follow-on capitalism: Trash Novels.

Now, hold on a second. They are not trash, per se, but they are a sort of mental bubble gum. That is not to say that they are not intricately crafted, well written, and by turns, electrifying and compelling. They are the sort of things I would like to create myself, if I could find a loopy character with a goofy world view, an ironic turn and an engaging grin and place him/her in a series of improbable but timely and breathtaking break-neck series of events. With great sex.

When I was laid up and bedridden in the summer of 2012, I devoured the adventures of Sheriff Walt Longmire (Craig Johnson) and Game Warden Joe Pickett (CJ Box).

Both characters are icons of the Square state of Wyoming, and sadly, I have read all of them. Both Johnson and Box are on a one-year writing cycle, and since they take only a day or two to read, the ability to binge on them has passed and the wait to the newest outing is long.

I was wondering how I was going to mis-spend the holiday weekend, and saw a reference to a new source of trash. The latest to provide welcome diversion from the distressing reality of today’s America is a series- four so far with a fifth to be released shortly- called “Monster Hunters International” by a fellow named Larry Correia.

They are the ultimate pool-side books. Utterly without social benefit or other redeeming qualities except nonstop violence, gun worship, sex, the supernatural and fun.

I hesitantly mentioned my fascination to a friend and got an immediate recommendation for two more authors: if you like Monster Hunters, you will like the series by penned by Laurell K. Hamilton, and Kim Harrison.

I mentioned them to another pal and got a recommendation for a series by Mr. James D. Doss and his Ute Reservation Lawman, Charlie Moon.

I bought the first in the series of each, and three of the Moons.

That is not to mention the solid recommendations of Senior Executive Jerry, which includes the remarkable work of Charles Finch (“A Beautiful Blue Death,” et al) and the amazing Donna Leon (“Death at La Fenice,” et al).

That should handle the summer, anyway.

The pool awaits. I have to get in the water- and if I can find a plastic baggie large enough, I am taking the iPad with me.

Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303